Dr Clarkson Declares Himself
by Forwillandjane
Summary: An alternative to Downton Abbey S6 events, in which Dr. Clarkson reveals his feelings for Isobel despite fearing her reaction.
1. Chapter 1

His heart fluttered, but he calmed it. He took a deep breath and willed himself to master his emotions. His hands wanted to be wrung, his legs wanted to shake. They wouldn't. He felt he had never been a brave man, or a strong one. He wasn't a coward and he wasn't ashamed of his station (never ashamed, he knew who he was); but his was a small, simple world and a lonely domain, sitting behind his desk in his stalwart oaken office with his head held high in determined authority.

At a patient's bedside with sleeves rolled up, the rest of the tumultuous world was blocked out from his reality as he executed the skills that he knew best and of which he was master. In those moments was he strong—confident in his work, in his knowledge and skill, and undaunted by those who were bigger and more boastful in the vast world beyond him.

So why wasn't he always?

He calmed his mind again and took another deep breath. This was _her_. Being with her was like being transported to his world again. She gave him back all the ease and self-confidence that slipped away too often when he stepped outside the old, ivied walls of the hospital. She understood everything and she surrounded him with it. She was a haven for him.

And she was beautiful.

He didn't pretend to have thought so at first. He knew she had been rather a disturber of the peace in his world when she first arrived. But she had pushed her way in, whether he liked it or not; and from the beginning he had recognized that the two of them would sink or swim together.

"You look very intense, Dr. Clarkson," she noted from the chair across from him, shaking him from his thoughts.

"Hm." He only smiled an assent, and took a sip of his tea. He was grateful that he never had to explain himself with her. She always understood him, his words and his silence. A comfortable air always existed between them.

"I had a thought the other day," she began, "of a more efficient organization for the out-patient clinic—" she stopped to turn her head and follow his gaze behind her. When she did, she saw a rich drapery of setting sunlight flowing through the large front room window, catching through the netting of leaves on the tree in the garden and breaking on every angle of cut glass in the window panes. The ethereal, enchanting colors of the dusky sky rose beyond and entranced them. When the sun had finally set behind the garden wall and gentle pastels had settled in the sky, she turned back to him. "We needn't talk about the hospital if you'd rather not."

"Thank you," he said with a grateful smile, though not matching her dazzling one. "It has been a rather long day."

"Mm, I see," she said, setting her teacup on the table beside her and leaning forward with her characteristic earnestness. "Can I help? Is there anything I can do for you?"

Her instinctive heart of service for others always thrilled him. It didn't surprise him anymore now that he knew her so well, but it gave him a pang of joy and even pride in her friendship.

"Just talking with you is a restorative. Thank you." He looked up at the window again. The air was thick with the fading colors of the sky, like a dust that filtered through the glass and lighted upon her hair, illuminating her face and her beauty. He loved her.

"And…thank you…for everything, Mrs. Crawley. You've been an invaluable and…dear friend to me. Not only with your help at the hospital, but, em, in everything. In…life. I don't know if you realize how much it's meant to me, but I thank you."

"A relief and a privilege," she recalled with a smile.

"Hm," he nodded, looking down with a small laugh. She laughed too–gently, but still her hearty, ringing, welcoming laughter.

He looked up with purpose into her eyes, steeling himself. It would be too easy to get lost in her big, warm brown eyes. The last of the dusty color was drifting away.

"You see I, em, I don't…eh…I don't know what I would do without you…" He began. He looked down then, not daring to look at her lest he see her retreating, willing him not to say what he felt and to remain safe in the place he was sure of. But he was not a coward and she was home and he would say what he meant to say, damn it.

"The truth is I've…I've grown to–to care for you deeply, Mrs. Crawley…"

Deeply? Why had he…

"You're, em, the dearest friend I have and you've…you've become…so much more…" He recalled the day she had stopped him before, years ago, when she had made it clear that a friend was all he would ever be. She'd done it as kindly as any woman could, and with generous understanding after.

"I know that you're, em…content…with things…as they are, but, em…"

Damn it all. He looked up into her deep, kind eyes with courage and strength and all the confidence she always gave him. "You mean the world to me, Isobel. I don't know what I would do without you."

Was she shocked? Yes, perhaps. She had a wide-eyed look, as if it was the last thing in the world she'd expected to hear from him. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it was the way he'd said it–the strong certainty of his feelings for her and the courage to declare himself thus. But she softened quickly–much sooner than he'd expected–emotion melting into her eyes.

"Nor I you."

"Really?…do you…do you mean that?"

She laughed again, but this time with softness–a tear?–in her eyes.

"I suppose your saying it has made me realize it," she smiled, "but you've been my greatest supporter since the moment I first came to Downton. All my nagging at the hospital, you took it in stride and gave me something to do—made me feel wanted. You understood me perhaps more than I understood myself. Then, when I…lost Matthew…" She paused, looking down, but quickly looked back up with a bittersweet smile, "You saved me, really. Saved me from wallowing and drowning in grief and self-pity. You reminded me that I have a family at the Abbey and that I am valued and loved, got me back into harness and reminded me of my interests…" She looked down. "I must've been the most terrible nuisance to you," she laughed, and he chuckled, ducking his head softly. Then she took his hands in hers. "But you've stuck with me through thick and thin."

His head had jerked up when she touched him, and now he looked into her eyes to see them looking gratefully into his…lovingly? Emotion filled them once again as she smiled.

"I can't thank you enough."

He gazed at her incredulously. Then suddenly a shadow passed over his face.

"And…what about Lord Merton?" He asked quietly. She straightened a little, still not letting go of his hands.

"I think…I think perhaps I could have grown to love him. Perhaps I even convinced myself that I did for a time, but…" She looked back at him, a little hesitantly. "I think perhaps I've loved you for a long while now."

He was the one with tears in his eyes now. He was home. The most natural thing in the world, and yet the most incredible thing that had ever happened to him.

Perhaps it was because the last shred of color had faded behind the garden wall, leaving a heavy grey shroud draped on the night, clouding vision and veiling action; or perhaps it was because of how right and true it felt that she should love him. Perhaps it was the courage that he had always had with her that caused him to lean forward, taking one of his hands from her grasp and touching it to her cheek–the cheek that had been touched by the fairy-dust of color ages ago. (Moments?) He held her face, painted his thumb across her cheek. She smiled, closing her eyes.

Perhaps he was in a dream (he certainly thought he was) when he brought his hand under her chin and gently leaned her towards him, tilted her face up with the crook of his finger, and slowly brought her lips to his. Perhaps that chaotic and confusing world outside of his–theirs–stopped while he kissed her. It must have, for it seemed to last an eternity and be gone in a flash. In the next moment, the first star appeared from behind the tree in the garden, shining out with all the radiance it could muster, shooting through the cold glass of the window panes, and lighting up the dark room.


	2. Chapter 2

_…Perhaps he was in a dream (he certainly thought he was) when he brought his hand under her chin and gently leaned her towards him, tilted her face up with the crook of his finger, and slowly brought her lips to his. Perhaps that chaotic and confusing world outside of his–theirs–stopped while he kissed her. It must have, for it seemed to last an eternity and be gone in a flash. In the next moment, the first star appeared from behind the tree in the garden, shining out with all the radiance it could muster, shooting through the cold glass of the window panes, and lighting up the dark room._

The moon was soon high and magnificent in its flight, and its promise poured into the quiet room. Isobel had moved to sit beside him on the sofa. They sat together for a lifetime: one finally shared between the two of them. Sometimes they spoke–about anything and everything, their interests always aligned–but mostly they sat together in contented silence. Either way, the communication was perfect and without mistake—a paragon of the understanding that had always been evident between them.

He sat now with his arm around her and her head on his shoulder. She held his hand in both of hers, ran her fingers through it and brought their hands onto her knee. She looked up to see him smiling at her.

"I always felt it ought to be us—together, you know." It was beautiful to be able to tell her everything he felt; the words felt rich on his tongue as he spoke them. "Very early on, really."

"Really?" She craned her neck around to look at him. "I was under the impression that I rather annoyed you when we first met–for the first few years of our acquaintance, even." She raised her eyebrows in playful suspicion. He chuckled, looking down.

"Well perhaps I was a bit…taken aback by your, em…enthusiasm…and, em your…self-assurance," he said, looking up with a sheepish smile. She smiled widely, laughing.

"I think I was rather something of the bull in the china shop, bullying in as though I thought I knew your business better than you did. Then, during the war…" She paused, glancing away from a moment and then dropping her head. "Well I suppose Lady Grantham had some reason to be fed up with me. I know I was unbearably self-important." She looked up with a sad smile. The cool fires burning in the night sky filtered through bright white clouds above and the mist below to softly touch her cheek and tint her somber look with a regal melancholy. The shade was almost haunting on her usually bright face. "I suppose I wasn't thinking about it at all. Only about all who were fighting and giving their lives and about trying to do everything I could to honor them. And of course Matthew…" a veil of tears lingering in her eyes overshadowed her smile. "Well of course my dear soldier was in my thoughts every waking and sleeping moment."

This passing shadow struck him deeply. In spite of her giving, joyful disposition and the smile that lit up his world, there were still corners of her heart stricken by frost that would always remain. The cold light on her face overwhelmed him and he rubbed her hands. He wanted to protect her–to warm her–more than anything. He pulled his arm from around her (with a slight shiver of reluctance as he did so) and leaned forward earnestly.

"It's getting cold in here," he began softly, bringing her back to look at him. "Shall I get you a blanket–light the fire perhaps?" She touched his cheek lovingly, gratefully, recognizing in an instant the cold he felt and the worry for her.

"No, I'm alright. Thank you, Richard" she calmed him with a smile, a caress, and the sound of his name gliding on her voice. He settled back again, somewhat reassured, and warmed by the golden feeling that filled him when she said his name.

"I think everything was different during the war," he said. The remembrance was like a salute to the night and to the world that had been turned upside down. "Your efforts and dedication were heroic. Truly." He spoke earnestly. "And you _were_ missed—when you left. I, em, I missed you. Very much." She looked up gratefully, especially recalling the angry feelings with which she had bid him farewell, and the gentle encouragement with which he had responded. "Though I must admit, it…took me rather by surprise," he added with a quiet laugh. She closed her eyes as a laugh played over them, and nestled back into him.

"In any case," he said, softening and shifting his hand to stroke hers with his thumb, "I think that from the beginning I…I _did_ know that there was something about you that was…true to me. Your honesty, your passion, your generosity–"

"Stop, don't–don't flatter me. I blush recalling much of my behavior and mannerisms back then."

"No it's true. You…understood me. Much more quickly and keenly than I would have ever expected, and often better than I did myself." He paused as she relaxed against him, breathing softly and steadily, with clouded moonlight slanting gently across her hair as he stroked it. "I knew we would sink or swim together." She lifted her head, smiling up at him. Her eyes were teary but he knew she was happy.

She was. She was happy and relieved and grateful and excited and content and peaceful and safe. So happy. He wasn't entirely sure how, with all her confidence and grace, but he felt that he was a quiet strength to her–protection even. She reached up to hold his face, to kiss him once more. One deep, slow kiss; warm and rich with their shared words and shared silence and with his name on her lips and his hand on her waist. She laid her head against his shoulder as the clouds softened the ray of moonlight dancing across their faces.


	3. Chapter 3

_…She reached up to hold his face, to kiss him once more. One deep, slow kiss; warm and rich with their shared words and shared silence and with his name on her lips and his hand on her waist. She laid her head against his shoulder as the clouds softened the ray of moonlight dancing across their faces._

His eyes started open at the sound of birds singing and playing in the garden outside the window. He moved to lift his hand to shade his eyes, but found he couldn't. It was pinned down and sore…and…holding something. Someone. He froze. The moon had been bright, but not this bright. It was dawn. A magnificent dawn, in fact. He had no idea what to think or do in this moment, but he certainly didn't want to wake her. He couldn't see her face, but she _felt_ beautiful with the peacefulness of her body and her steady, untroubled breathing. They were a privilege–a blessing–to be close to, to be a part of.

Yet a pang of embarrassment and even guilt ran through him and shattered his contentment. No doubt there was some degree of impropriety in his waking up with the woman he loved in his arms, no matter how chastely and unintentionally. Yet it was hard to convince himself that there was anything wrong. Everything about their being together, everything about the last night felt so completely pure and right and true. No, he really didn't know what to think. Perhaps he could slip out quietly, unnoticed. But without her waking or any servant or villager seeing? The true difficulty of his situation suddenly dawned on him. And yet he had no desire whatsoever _not_ to be with her, no reason to let her go.

Just then, he felt her stir and her head shift on his shoulder. He looked down just as she was blinking her eyes open. He saw how perfectly happy they were for a lovely moment…and how they opened wider in confused shock the next, just like his own. First she looked down at their long-entangled hands. Then at his hand still holding her waist. Then she looked up at his face…and looked down again.

"I'm afraid I nodded off," she said quietly.

"Yes, I'm afraid you nodded off into my arms," he replied, with a playful wink in his groggy yet no less lilting brogue. He immediately bit his lip, surprised at his own cheek. He just couldn't _not_ feel cheerful…

He was startled to feel her shaking. He looked down anxiously only to see her giggling–uncontrollably, apparently, since she couldn't seem to stop. Finally she sat up from him and shifted to face him. She took her hands from his that she still held and wiped her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, that's dreadful of me. I suppose this really is quite bad," she said, unconvincingly.

She looked out the window at her lovely, blooming garden–the one she really didn't deserve, as she was a rather half-hearted gardener–and couldn't help but smile at how beautiful of a morning it was, how golden-grey and fresh the sunlight. She just couldn't see this morning as anything to be upset about about.

"Well, em, I suppose the servants–"

"Oh I've only got a cook now, and a girl who comes from the village every once in a while, and they generally leave me to my own devices," she said cheerily.

"Well it's just that, em, I'm not sure how to, em…leave…now…"

"Must you?"

He laughed slightly at this. "Well at some point I really must…" His face clouded again as he pondered his dilemma. His beautiful, beautiful dilemma.

"I'm not sure I understand what your problem is," she replied simply. She was still basking her face in the crystalline warmth of the morning light filtering in through the window. He shook himself away from the sight of her and and sighed.

"Well I can hardly leave your house when I haven't gone into it…today, that is. It's a little…suspicious…don't you think?"

She turned sharply from the light to speak to him with that loud directness that he perhaps had found slightly annoying at one point.

"What are you implying?"

He groaned, almost desperately, in the hopes of making her understand. He made an effort to resist rolling his eyes.

"Well people in the village are likely to, em speculate–uh, gossip even."

"Are you suggesting that people would insinuate–would believe that–"

"Well–no–but–"

"Well then! What's the matter?"

"Well it is rather likely to at least raise questions–"

She huffed and turned her back to him. _Then_ he rolled his eyes. Still, he tried to soften his manner, started to explain more calmly and with less anxiety.

"Isobel. It's only that…I know the people of Downton very well. I'm highly respected in the community. Anything unusual will undoubtedly bring rumor, perhaps to the point of scandal. Of course I don't wish that upon you." She turned back to face him, but still with frustration on her face.

"I still don't see why–"

"Everyone knows we work closely together at the hospital; that we're good friends, even…" At this she smiled slightly and his cheeks reddened a bit as he suppressed a grin.

"What's more I…I come here…quite often. So to come one evening and leave the next morning? It's…highly unusual…"

"Surely they couldn't possibly imagine we've…done anything…improper…" She tried not to blush as she broached the subject, but her bright eyes betrayed her discomfort—and her sense of humor.

"I…I hardly know!" he all but spluttered. He gave her hand a squeeze, then stood up on sore legs, stretching the heaviness out of his limbs before moving away from the sofa. He dragged his feet along the carpet and paced to his accustomed post in front of the chair by the curtain. Here he and Isobel had had many a… _lively_ discussion. He gazed out the window as he always did. He couldn't help the shy little grin that crept over his face as he let the day begin to wash over him. No, he really had no reason to be upset. Not today. He gazed out the window and took a long, deep breath before speaking, slowly and deliberately.

"I suppose somehow I'll just have to find a way to…subtly…show the village that…that my, em…my behavior is…is entirely, em…honorable."

"Well then perhaps you should marry me."

The moment she said it her eyes opened wide. She wanted to clap her hands over her mouth and hide her face. Instead she lowered her head as a flush rose to her cheeks. What had possessed her? She always spoke her mind without shame, especially with him. More than that, she finally had no doubts whatsoever that this was what she wanted: to "change her position," to live the rest of her life with him. Still, she worried he would be annoyed that as always, she had butted in first, forcing her way into his place, his domain. Not only annoyed–hurt. She could've cried. Slowly she raised her head, hoping to gauge his reaction and do her best to ease any ill-feeling she might've foolishly aroused with her rash speech.

She was startled to see the silhouette of his shoulders softly shaking and his head in his hands against the full, white light of day that poured in from where he stood at the window. She took a step forward with tears filling her eyes, hand outstretched to reach him, when he turned slowly toward her. He was laughing. He was laughing harder than she'd ever seen him laugh before. He brought his hands down to cover his mouth in a vain attempt to stifle it, but eventually he dropped his hands in defeat and laughed loudly, freely, joyfully. He wiped his eyes, then stepped quickly to her and took up her hands in his.

"Of course you would be the one to ask me to marry you," he said, still chuckling. Yet when he saw the worried look in her eyes, he softened and smiled, taking her face in his hands. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

She breathed a sigh of relief, then grinned, then laughed with him–the laugh that scrunched up her nose and broadened her smile. She knew she couldn't change who she was deep down. She had always striven to be strong in herself despite what anyone else might think. Yet it still meant the world to her to know that he loved her exactly as she was, her strengths and her faults.

He brought that laughing face to his and rested his against it. He kissed her not caring now if the wide, clear glass behind them exposed them to gossiping villagers and superior dowagers, to the sunlight and the starlight and the moonlight and the world. She was his: to love and laugh with, to sink or swim with for the rest of his life.


End file.
